(no subject)
On October 16 I spayed a cat.
She was more a kitten than a cat, really. A beautiful black short-haired girl, friendly and a bit wriggly, purring up a storm. During her pre-surgery physical exam we had to go through all kinds of contortions and tricks to try to hear her heart over the purrs. She was kneading invisible biscuits wherever we went.
She was also sneezing a bit.
By the next morning, as often happens right after anesthesia and surgery, the evident signs of her illness were more noticeable, more pronounced. She sneezed some blood and goop. We wiped off the inside of her "cone of shame" before turning her back over to the shelter.
Her energy was great, though, and her temperature was within the normal range. She obviously wasn't heavily debilitated. And her personality was wonderful! What a darling. A black cat in October, okay, not the luckiest combination... but maybe she'd be available for adoption in November. Somebody would adore this girl.
We dutifully wrote up all our medical findings in the notes that accompany the patient back to the shelter. Pre-anesthesia blood work results, pain assessment post-surgery, the sneezing, a note that she should be kept separate from clinically healthy shelter animals.
She never showed up for adoption.
For days, weeks, I looked for her shelter number. I told the automated web site I wanted a female black cat and ONLY from that shelter. Nothing. I searched for her number. Nothing. Into November and early December. Nothing.
It sure would be nice to know that the first cat I ever spayed survived more than 24 hours after the surgery. But I don't think she did.
She was more a kitten than a cat, really. A beautiful black short-haired girl, friendly and a bit wriggly, purring up a storm. During her pre-surgery physical exam we had to go through all kinds of contortions and tricks to try to hear her heart over the purrs. She was kneading invisible biscuits wherever we went.
She was also sneezing a bit.
By the next morning, as often happens right after anesthesia and surgery, the evident signs of her illness were more noticeable, more pronounced. She sneezed some blood and goop. We wiped off the inside of her "cone of shame" before turning her back over to the shelter.
Her energy was great, though, and her temperature was within the normal range. She obviously wasn't heavily debilitated. And her personality was wonderful! What a darling. A black cat in October, okay, not the luckiest combination... but maybe she'd be available for adoption in November. Somebody would adore this girl.
We dutifully wrote up all our medical findings in the notes that accompany the patient back to the shelter. Pre-anesthesia blood work results, pain assessment post-surgery, the sneezing, a note that she should be kept separate from clinically healthy shelter animals.
She never showed up for adoption.
For days, weeks, I looked for her shelter number. I told the automated web site I wanted a female black cat and ONLY from that shelter. Nothing. I searched for her number. Nothing. Into November and early December. Nothing.
It sure would be nice to know that the first cat I ever spayed survived more than 24 hours after the surgery. But I don't think she did.